Experiments Six Through Eleven
by BadaBingxBadaBoom
Summary: Years at the School. How much more horror-movie does it get? AU The OTHER way the Flock becomes a stable team.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm so writer's-blocked, I'm posting some old stuff that's been sitting in my computer for a while now. Yeah. That's pretty much my only excuse.**

**Disclaimer: Not JP. It's as simple as that.**

**Kisses,**

**{--Inky--}**

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Age Eight

The sealed metal door, painted white to match the rest of the sterile-looking walls, opened dramatically, spilling dazzling florescent light into the otherwise dark room. Every hybrid in the room winced, curling back towards the walls of their crates and covering their eyes. All except one. The blind one, Subject Eight. He stared at the door with sightless, milky blue eyes, listening to the approaching footsteps. He could pick out the heavy, lumbering gait of several Erasers, a soft, yet purposeful and confident, carriage of someone much smaller than an Eraser, and an achingly familiar stride of someone they all knew well.

Jeb.

His keys clinked together in the pocket of his white lab coat, which still madethe experiments recoil, no matter how kind he was to them. In the crate next to Eight, Subject Nine opened her eyes and immediately clamped a dark hand over her mouth. She could see the hem of Jeb's lab coat resting just above his knees, and she recognized the fancy, Italian-looking shoes that he always wore. Nine liked Jeb a lot, ever since he had given her a larger portion of bread than usual, and a hairbrush to tame her wild brown curls.

She wanted so badly to ask what was going on, but she was sure that if she opened her mouth, everything she was thinking would spill out in a relentless torrent, and the whitecoats didn't like them talking. Jeb let her babble on to him when he came to see them, but he usually came alone. He wasn't alone now. Nine cautiously reached a finger through a gap in her crate and poked Subject Seven in the side. When he looked over at her, she tilted her head, hand still over her mouth, at the legs standing next to Jeb's.

Seven examined the legs. They were thin, he guessed, probably a girl's, and wearing sweatpants, which was unusual. Usually the experiments were given pants made out of a thin, crinkly blue material and a plain white t-shirt to wear. The mysterious person was barefoot, though, so they might be a hybrid like him. The whitecoats always wore shoes. He raked a hand through his shaggy black hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up from an intern who was assigned to check their daily vitals.

Jebpulled up his pressed tan pant legs and crouched down to peer into the five dog crates. Subject Nine had shuffled over to lean on the wall closest to Subject Eight, their hands clasped together through the tiny spaced in the plastic. The harsh edge was pressing painfully into Nine's wrist, but she refused to let go. She was scared. They all were.

Next to Eight was Subject Eleven, sitting cross-legged and staring out the cold metal bars with wide, equally cold blue eyes. The tiny girl wasn't afraid of Jeb; she hardly knew him. He had never ever taken her for any tests. He hadn't hurt her. She knew he wasn't here to harm her, or any of them, and she knew this because she'd plucked it out of his head, from his thoughts.

Without tearing her eyes away from Jeb's form, Eleven reached through her crate and placed a small, reassuring hand on Subject Ten's arm. He was her older brother, she knew, according to a whitecoat. Ten was curled up into a ball, hands over his spiky white-blond head, and tears leaked out of his clenched-shut eyes and made tracks down his dirty cheeks. He remembered the last time that a whitecoat had come in with armed Erasers. He remembered the needles, and the pain, and he didn't want it to happen to him again.

Jeb calmly met Seven's dark, inscrutable eyes, holding them for a moment before standing abruptly and breaking free from the boy's level, accusatory stare.

Turning his attention back to the girl he had brought with him, Jeb frowned. She had her back to him and her arms crossed tightly, stubbornly refusing to so much as glance at him. That was the last straw for him. Frustrated, he grabbed her slender shoulders and roughly spun her around, forcing her to face the row of caged children.

"Is that what you want?" He shook her. "To be like them? Useless and confined to a tiny cage, nothing more than a number. Virtually obsolete." Nine winced at his words. She didn't feel obsolete. She didn't want to be obsolete, ever. Eight squeezed her hand reassuringly. He had felt her flinch.

"You know, for someone who keeps insisting that he's different from the rest, you sound an awful lot like Ter Borcht," the girl snapped back. "We're not numbers. We're people, with or without the DNA splice."

"But you are numbers," Jeb said quietly, almost sadly. "Subject Six."

"Who?"

"You. Subject Six is you. The first permanent success in Itex's history."

"Well, whoop-de-do for me," Six snorted. "Can you get to the point? Before I die of old age?"

"You're slated for termination. Sometime next week."

"So I should _stop _poking fun at Ter Borcht just to see him turn purple?"

"Yes. Now focus, this is serious. I think I can pull some strings, buy you more time to prove you're worth saving, but you'll have to cooperate with them." Jeb let go of her to pace across the small room, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No," Six said automatically, tilting her chin up in defiance. Seven decided her like her style.

"For a little while. Not forever."

"No," she insisted. "Is that my only option? Play lap doggy for the sicko scientists?" Six frowned, clearly unhappy about this.

"You could join them," Jeboffered, gesturing to the crated mutants. Six's gaze flickered over her shoulder, locking eyes with Subject Eleven, who stared solemnly back. Huge bruises colored one side of the little girl's face yellow, green, blue, purple, and cuts ran up her thin arms. Dried blood and dirt matted her blond curls together. Tears sprang to Six's eyes, but she beat them down. _Whitecoats did that,_ she though. _They're monsters. Heartless, cold monsters._

"Order me a dog crate, then. I've jumped through enough hoops for you people. Find yourselves another lab rat," she said evenly, seeming calm and sure of herself. Really, she was crying like a baby on the inside. But no one needed to know _that._

Jeb sighed heavily. "You'll change your mind." Before Six could object to his statement, he motioned to an Eraser standing by the door.

"Nighty-night, piggy," he grinned, reaching a hairy paw behind its back and pulling a gun. Six spun, and caught a round-and-a-half directly in the abdomen. Her mouth fell open in shock.

She swayed unsteadily on her feet, hands clutching at her midriff like claws, and then she slowly lowered herself to her knees. Jeb watched with an apologetic look on his features as she collapsed in on herself, coming to a rest with her cheek pressed against the cold floor. Nine and Eleven were screaming, their eyes trained on the older girl's unmoving body.

Six landed directly in front of Seven's cage, her back to him, and he couldn't see and pool of crimson red leaking from and staining the ground around her. He felt it safe to assume that she had just been hit with enough sedative to down an elephant. He noticed how her dirty blond hair was cut short and haphazardly, not quite brushing her shoulder, and how she wore a blue t-shirt instead of a white one, but mostly he noticed one major thing that he would remember all his life.

There, protruding from slits cut into her shirt, were two graceful, speckled brown and white wings.

Wings.

Like his.

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**Oooh, dramatic ending!! I love writing those. . . sigh. . . **

**But yeah.**

**I like the way this piece turned out. Don't judge me.**

**Just tell me if I'm retarded to like it, or dead on.**

**In. . . dun, dun, DUHHNNN. . . a review!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's what I've been working on and off on for the last few um. . . how long has it been since my last post? Weeks, maybe? **

**ANYWHO, I've got more young flock at the school for ya, but I honestly don't think this is nearly as good as the first. At least not the end bit. I'm off my game :(  
But never fear, I'll come back.**

**Eventually.**

**And I think this officially signals my return to writing in the past tense. Since about mid-October, I've been unable to write anything unless it's in the present tense, and don't ask me why 'cause I have no freaking clue. I just did. But now I'm back in all my past-tense glory! Yay me! Kidding, totally not into acting like London Tipton. . .**

**REVIEWS: **

**Constant-Rae-of-Sunshine: I'm lovin' your enthusiasm :)**

**And there were a couple others, but no replies guys, but thanks anyway!! Review again, and maybe I'll find something to tell ya LLC**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I am a girl. Therefore, I cannot be James Patterson, who is obviously a slightly aged old man. So, I do not own Maximum Ride.**

**Kisses,**

**{--Inky--}**

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**Age Ten**

The five bird-kids lined up shoulder to shoulder with their feathery backs pressed against the sweltering hot metal wall, warmed by the sun. Though it prickled and stung uncomfortably through the thin fabric of their shirts, not one moved. Every last hybrid was enjoying the pleasant yellow warmth cast across their cheeks and noses by the midday sun smiling down on them. It wasn't often they were let outside, and opportunities like this one weren't to be taken for granted.

Nudge lazily opened her eyes, her momentary bliss slipping away when she caught sight of the huddle of whitecoats across the small grassy enclosure, heads together and clipboards clutched tightly.

Wordlessly – even though Nudge was absolutely terrified of silence because it was so empty and dead— she elbowed Fang to get his attention. The elder boy turned his dark eyes from the clear blue sky to follow her gaze. Seeing what she was seeing, his shoulders immediately tensed, hands curling into fists, but his face remained impassive.

Tiny little Angel felt his abrupt shift in mood, and it worried her. She sidled closer to Iggy and reached up to clutch at his hand. Almost subconsciously, Iggy squeezed back. The Gasman was trying to describe the flawless sky to him, quietly of course, and Iggy was wishing fervently that he could see. Now more than ever.

The door the group had been ushered through less than five minutes earlier creaked open again, startling them. Whitecoats across the yard hushed and peered anxiously at the opening. Several Erasers strutted out, shotguns cradled in the crooks of their hairy, morphed arms, slobbery, sadistic smirks on their faces. Jeb Batchleder strode out next, with his extremely self-important air evident, and made Nudge's heart stutter painfully in her chest.

Fang scowled angrily, while Gazzy straightened and gathered Angel closer to him. She sighed tiredly. It took Iggy a moment to understand the sudden hostile-meets-sad shift of atmosphere, but when he did, he frowned sadly.

Who came out next startled all five.

Fang recognized her first, by the honey and sand cropped hair, longer now, her light step, the seemingly permanent frown. Six's hazel eyes had darkened to a richer brown, and they bore two distinctly furious holes into Jeb's back. He didn't seem to care. The three heavily armed Erasers flanking the young girl from all sides would be enough to restrain her, for now at least.

When the small procession passed, Six's gaze flickered over to meet Fang's, sizing him up. A tiny smile tugged at her lips for a fleeting second, then it was gone and she was standing boldly in front of a small raised platform holding a pudgy, balding whitecoat sporting bulging piggy eyes, a bad comb over, and the beer belly of the century. He raised his arms dramatically, gesturing to the crowds of curious whitecoats, and Jeb visibly sighed.

"'Velcome," he boomed in a think European accent. "I am Roland ter Borcht, Sub-Director of Section I-27. 'Zank you for coming such great distances to 'vitness our success.

"For many years, our scientists have slaved o'zer 'zeir tables, trying to perfect 'ze delicate art of recombinant DNA. 'Ve 'ave 'vorked and given many 'zings to be where our technology 'ees now, and 'ze Head Committee 'vould like solid proof of our success.

"I ask you now, bear 'vitness to 'ze accomplishments of Section I-27." Ter Borcht waved a hand at where the six children stood, still and unwilling to move.

" 'Zese are our most recent successes. Avian-human recombinant life forms, experiments Six through Eleven." The whitecoats all turned to face the six bird-kids.

"Subject Eight." Iggy blinked and slowly lifted his arm, uncertain. "'Zis subject undervent some extremely invasive surgery, meant to enhance 'is night vision. Now, he 'ees blind."

"Subject Ten." Gazzy eyed the overweight old man, untrusting, as he should be. "'Zere 'vas some'zing wrong in 'is biochemical make-up, resulting in a chemical imbalance in 'ze digestive system."

"Subject Nine." Nudge jumped, startled at him calling her, and inched closer to Fang, like he would protect her. "'Er primary motory functions are good, but 'er ability to stay quiet 'ees extremely minimal."

"Hey!" Nudge found herself saying indignantly. Several Erasers turned their savage eyes on her, and she shrunk further behind Fang, who vaguely noticed Six frown, disapproving.

"My point exactly. Subject Seven." Fang moved his solid stare from Six to ter Borcht. "'Ve haven't found any'zing wrong 'vith 'zis one yet, despite 'ze lack of verbal ability, but 'zere 'ees still a possibility."

"Subject Eleven." Angel glanced up and waved at the huddle, making them all blink as though they'd previously thought none of the hybrids could communicate. Dozens of whitecoats began furiously scribbling on clipboards, and Gazzy growled and pulled Angel behind him. "'Zis subject has shown incredible amounts of mentally stimulative activity. 'Ve 'ave conferred that she is able to read minds."

"And finally, our greatest success, Subject Six."

"Max." The whitecoats tittered among each other.

Ter Borcht paused in his speech to stare incredulously down at Six, or Max as she demanded. He sneered. "You are still stuck on 'zat? You are Subject Six, and 'zat is 'vat you 'vill be called!"

"My _name _is Maximum Ride, and I refuse to answer to anything but," Max snapped back, tilting her chin up defiantly. Ter Borcht looked extremely unpleased with this revelation, and he was slowly turning purple, which Max found highly amusing and smirked at.

Jeb cleared his throat loudly and pointedly, breaking the tense stand-off between Max and ter Borcht. The latter turned back to his assembled crowd and resumed his tirade. "As I 'vas saying –"

One whitecoat put up his hand. "Can we see its wings?" he asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"I –'vat?"

"You claim these to be avian-human hybrids; therefore they should have wings. Can we see them?"

A flush crept up ter Borcht's large neck, and Jeb stepped in smoothly. "But of course. Subject Six," he gestured for Max to step forward, "Spread your wings for us, please."

Max stared. "Um, no."

Ter Borcht resumed his former resemblance to an extremely bloated eggplant. "'Vat did you say!" he thundered, surpassing purple and coming upon a deep blue. Max looked at him as if he'd just asked her to become the next Queen of England.

"Like I'm going to cooperate because you've done _so much _else for me," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a hip.

"You'll help because 've 'ave said you 'vill," he said dangerously. He was glowering daggers at Max, but the glare she gave back made his daggers look like broken-off pushpins.

"Then what's my incentive?" The whitecoats whispered again, clearly amazed she knew such a large word. Under his breath, Iggy snorted incredulously at him.

"'Zis," ter Borcht produced a rectangular box, no bigger than the palm of his meaty hand, from an inside pocket of his lab coat. It looked vaguely like a remote, with three or four color-coded buttons lining the middle.

Max guffawed. "Are you going to throw that at me? It wouldn't even leave a bruise. That is, _if _you can lob it this far."

Ter Borcht merely smiled.

Moments later, Max let out an agonized shriek and toppled to the ground, immediately curling into the foetal position and curling her scarred fists over her drawn knees. Her entire body was twitching spastically, involuntarily, and she had to sink her teeth into her trembling lower lip to keep the scream building in her throat from escaping and giving ter Borcht his satisfaction.

She stayed silent as every nerve ending across her body reacted as though it was on fire. Her thoughts weren't coherent. She could barely even recall her own name. She didn't know where she was. The pain overruled it all. There were salty, hot unwanted tears rolling down her cheeks and blood seeping slowly from her palms because of her ragged fingernails biting through the skin.

Just when she thought her bones were about to liquefy and leave a Max-sized puddle on the grass, the spasms and pain stopped. She was left lying there, gasping raggedly for air like she'd never had any before now. Her chest was tight, her appendages stinging with an afterthought, her stomach throbbing in her throat at the same rhythm as her galloping heart.

She had _not _been expecting that.

Shakily, she uncurled her stiff legs and fingers, wiping her tongue across her mouth to get rid of the dry, cottony taste. Ter Borcht was towering above her, smirking like a child who'd just succeeded in winning his much-awaited ribbon.

She wanted to tear out his jugular with her bare hands.

She refrained, but only because he still held the evil little box that carried the flood gates to hell.

"Get up."

Max complied, grudgingly and angrily, her muscles groaning under her. She refused to glance at the other bird-kids. Their pity and worry would only add insult to injury, and she didn't want it. If she wasn't strong, she was sure to die at these people's uncaring hands.

Keeping her furious gaze on ter Borcht, she slowly and wordlessly rolled her shoulders and allowed for her tawny wings to spread, visibly sighing when they were stretched fully. Nearly twelve feet across, from wingtip to wingtip. She felt they were a good size for a slight ten-year-old like herself, and she was proud of her wings. The light caught the brown speckles, causing them to shine a dark gold, and the white seemed as if it was literally glowing from the inside out. The whitecoats all awed.

She allowed the slight breeze to ruffle her feathers and closed her eyes, imagining she was coasting those breezes, anywhere but where she was, and then she came back down to reality and slammed her wings shut, scowling fiercely.

"That's all you get," she said coldly. Ter Borcht held up his remote, eyebrows raised, and made a dramatic movement to press the dreaded button.

He yowled in pain when she kicked it out of his hand. The little black box landed somewhere to their left, several hundred yards away. Ter Borcht knew she would beat him over there easily if he even made an attempt to retrieve his only weapon, so he didn't even waste the effort.

"That's all the entertainment you'll get out of that today, I guess."

Ter Borcht stepped closer and tried to look fearsome. Max laughed.

"Don't try and intimidate me, you know you can't anyway. I could totally kick your Euro-trash butt from here to next month," she mocked, taunting him. Somewhere in the background, a small group of similar kids chuckled in various levels, a sandy-haired-with-salt-and-pepper-streaks man sighed in defeat, several pencils scratched as they whisked across clipboards, and the ever-solemn Fang allowed a small smile.

She was pretty brazen for being a prisoner like the rest of them. Amusing as heck, but still totally fearless.

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**There we go now.**

**So, as a general rule, review.**

**It makes me happy.**


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